


That Too

by moonmoth (greyvvardenfell)



Series: Fictober 2019 [19]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Mild Sexual Content, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/moonmoth
Summary: Asra and Muriel settle into life together.
Relationships: Asra/Muriel (The Arcana)
Series: Fictober 2019 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696495
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	That Too

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fictober prompt: "Yes, I admit it, you were right."
> 
> Takes place in the Moth & Raven universe.

Dappled sunlight kissing his eyelids through the broad leaves far overhead had woken Asra every morning this week. He stretched, his bare skin warm under the furs, and curled closer into the solid embrace of Muriel’s arms, soft breath stuttering against the back of his neck as its source laughed quietly and pulled him tighter.

“Morning, Muri,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “I love you.”

He felt Muriel start to reply before he spoke, the words rumbling in his chest. “Love you.”

Peaceful silence stretched gossamer threads through the hut made colorful by hanging scarves and piles of pillows. The branches that wove the roof had been studded with magical orbs of light, the gaps between them sealed to prevent rain from leaking through while still allowing precious sunshine to illuminate the inside. The first time Muriel had looked over Asra’s changes, his eyes grew distant, clouded over by an obscure nostalgia that plucked at Asra’s heartstrings.

“It looks like your refuge under the docks,” he’d said wistfully. “You had that shawl hanging the same way there, too.”

Asra followed his gesture. A shimmering purple-blue cloak, stained by age and sea salt, caught the light opposite the door, looped over three pegs in the ceiling. The iridescence of the fabric looked best when it was on full display, he’d started to explain, but Muriel wasn’t really complaining about the decor.

“Did you like it back then?”

“Yes.”

“How about now?”

Silence had engulfed the hut after that as well, like the walls were frozen in anticipation. “You bring color wherever you go,” he murmured at last. “Even here. Even to me.”

Asra left the crystal grid he had been arranging on the table and crossed to Muriel’s elbow. “Especially to you.”

They made love for the first time that night, stopping easily and often as they explored each other’s bodies. Inanna and Faust gave them their privacy under a canopy of silk and starlight, venturing off into the forest for explorations of their own. Any secrets shared or promises sworn were heard only by each other and the old oaks, who understood but would never speak a word.

“How long?” Muriel asked, when they were done and spent and Asra was braiding small plaits into his hair.

“Mm?”

“How long have you felt… how you feel?”

“How long have I loved you, you mean?” Asra leaned down and kissed his forehead, his gentle violet eyes crinkled with amusement. “I’m not sure.” He began to trace Muriel’s features. Strong brows, bold nose, full lips. He hesitated over his scars before tracing them too. “You’ve always been there, Muri. I barely remember meeting you, let alone before that.”

“Twenty years, give or take.”

“Does it matter exactly when I started to see you as more than a friend?”

He stayed quiet. Reticence was Muriel’s shorthand for many things, but Asra read this instance as an affirmative and cocked his head. “How come?”

Blushing, Muriel looked away. “Nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. You said it mattered.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I love you, Muriel. Whatever you have to say or ask isn’t going to change that,” said Asra, clasping his hand. “Please. We both kept too many things inside for too long. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Muriel looked at him, then pushed himself upright to sit cross-legged, his massive shoulders hunched as he drew pieces of protective sigils on the bare floor between them, buying himself time. “Did you love me before or after you brought Reyja back?” he asked abruptly, earthen runemarks gleaming with unfocused magic.

“I…” Asra stared, caught off guard by the question. “Before. Long before.” A cautious smile lifted the corners of his lips. “I loved you years before I even met her, before I knew Ilya, before Lucio ever came to Vesuvia and brought the plague with him.”

“I don’t understand.”

He nodded sadly. “Why I did it.”

“Why get involved? She was his co-worker.”

“Yes.” Asra swallowed, shaking his head. “She and Ilya were taking care of plague victims and trying to cure it, like everyone else. She didn’t have a talent for magic back then. No more than anyone does, anyway.” He looked around at the neat line of small, carved animal figurines on one shelf, at Inanna’s nest of furs and scraps of cloth, at the bouquet of forget-me-nots brightening the windowsill, at anything but him. “I think I gave that to her.”

With a resigned sigh, he took Muriel’s large, scarred hands in his and pressed a kiss into the palm of each one. “It was never about bringing Reyja back,” he whispered. “It was never about me or Ilya or anyone. Except Lucio.” Asra’s eyes narrowed to vicious slits. “I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but I knew it was dangerous and magical and he was going to try to get a new body. I couldn’t let that happen.

"Ilya and I had been working at the Palace together long enough by then that he’d confided in me why he was so nose-to-the-grindstone obsessive about curing the plague and, well…” He shrugged. “I thought I was about to have an extra body on my hands. So he helped me get what I needed to disrupt the ritual and I promised I’d get his Reyja back, if I could.”

“Asra…”

“I know! It was reckless. I was reckless. And selfish and irresponsible and single-minded. I know.” Asra’s hands shook, his back bowed sharply by the weight of his admission. “I was desperate and blinded by what I thought was the perfect opportunity to get revenge for all the horrible things I saw Lucio do. To my parents, my friends. To you.” He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. “I loved you even then, Muri. Everything I’ve done these last three years, looking after Reyja, teaching her magic, trying to help Nadi even though she didn’t remember me… all of it has been to tie up the loose ends I created that night, so we can be happy.”

“What about Julian?”

Asra’s head shot up, his cheeks flushed scarlet. “Ilya was… a mistake and an indulgence. Before the ritual, he was lonely and grieving for a love he never had, and in a way so was I. I thought the catharsis might be good for both of us.” He rubbed small circles against Muriel’s broad wrists. “We only met a couple times. He wanted more, emotionally and physically, and I— I couldn’t keep it up. He asked me to hurt him and I did, and I liked it. That part was never the problem. It was what I realized about myself that made me stop: it felt like I was cheating.”

Muriel’s silence asked a question this time.

“On you. Ilya’s loss was, at the time, concrete, but mine? That was just me thinking I’d lose you if I confessed how much you really meant to me.” Asra laughed low in his throat. “The heart feels what it feels, of course, but mine didn’t do me any favors when it told me that. Maybe if I’d just come out here and talked to you, none of this would've…” He trailed off, letting his hands fall from Muriel’s into his lap.

Slowly, tenderly, Muriel picked them up again. “Um, like you said. Everyone kept a lot of secrets for a long time. I don't…” He flipped his hair out of his face, only for it to fall back. Asra tucked the strands behind his ear for him, lingering delicately on his cheek. “….Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean… thank you, for what you tried to do with Lu—. With him. To him.”

Asra sat speechless, his pulse fluttering under Muriel’s fingers. “Muri, no, you don’t have to—”

“I mean it. He hurt you too, but…” Muriel closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.”

“That’s okay,” Asra said quickly, squeezing his hands. “We don’t have to.”

"But thank you.”

——

Months had passed since that open-hearted baring of old wounds so the abscesses festering beneath could heal cleanly. They talked more, every so often, about Julian exchanging his memories of Reyja for the plague cure coinciding with the ritual he had helped sabotage, effectively defeating the efforts he had gone to to revive her even as she sputtered back to life with no recollection of him, either. How they had reconnected, two drifting souls in an endless night, was painfully beautiful.

They also discussed what Asra himself had lost, how his heart had been halved in the process of bringing her back without him even noticing at first.

“It always took a lot to make you cry,” Muriel commented over a bowl of sweet berries they shared as they talked, lounging across Asra’s newest pillow pile.

“I think that’s the same. I know I love just as hard.” Asra grinned and wiped a smear of purple juice from Muriel’s chin.

“Because it started before?”

“Huh. I didn’t consider that. Maybe I love you even more. Twice as much love, in half the space.”

But most of their time was spent in blissful domesticity, a quiet routine of caring for the chickens and improving the house and making or gathering food and herbs. Some days they would wander, roaming afield for mushrooms or fruit trees with their familiars and returning laden with a bounty of fresh produce. Asra quickly became adept at hearthside magic, whipping up meals and baked goods at a ferocious, and delicious, pace. Soon the hut needed more counter space, and another set of shelves, and a larder and a pantry, and by the time the winter storms stopped it was well over double the size it had been before Asra moved in, all twinkling lights and artful drapery inside, a home that suited them both.

Late one spring afternoon, when the solid strikes of Muriel’s ax ended for the day, Asra made his way through the beaded curtain he’d hung over the doorway and walked barefoot across the recently-fenced courtyard, leaving light footprints in the rain-soaked dirt. He stopped to offer pets to the chickens that scrambled to surround him, beaming at Muriel when he appeared around the side of the woodshed with an armload of chopped logs. 

“Well, I admit it. You were right.”

“About?”

“There’s something about life in the forest that I didn’t understand until I came here myself.”

Muriel pursed his lips, blushing. “Told you,” he grumbled, almost inaudibly.

“I’m glad you did, Muri.” Asra stood up again and inhaled, letting the scent of petrichor and new leaves fill his lungs. “Ahhhh, it smells so good out here. Like renewal and clean slates.”

“It smells like rain.”

Asra laughed, high and joyous. “That too.”


End file.
